#headlesshydra

But as Lorene approached the auctioneer, Jack of Clubs in hand, he drew closer to the art gallery--and found himself peeling away from the excited stream of people rushing up to claim their winnings.

The Red Sun was undeniably a beautiful piece. Thread art also happened to be one of Lorene's favorite mediums--what few pieces of art at the Royal Keep back home that had survived the Usurper's ransacking and his mother and uncle's liquidating in order to pay for public works projects tended to be tapestries. More to the point, the scene the artist had depicted wasn't just of the Twilight Tundra. It reminded Lorene of home, so strongly that when he first saw the piece, he thought he might weep.

But now that the thrill of the hunt was over, now that he'd secured a victory (and now that he'd had a chance to step outside and clear his head after overthinking himself into a spiral earlier in the event), the Prince realized what a fool he'd been. The Red Sun was enormous. What was he thinking? There was no way this massive thing would fit into his and Insight's humble little condo.

Something disgruntled and peeved brushed against the edges of his thoughts. No--someone. Lorene's telepathy was (finally) constantly active now, so occasionally he'd catch other people's stray thoughts brushing against his self-made Psionic shields, just like he was used to. Carefully, Lorene lowered those shields just a bit, and looked around the crowded room.

There. The person with whom he'd accidentally gotten into a bidding war over the Red Sun. The Ten of Spades--Helena Harper.

A cold feeling settled into Lorene's gut. A sense of horror and shame--how had he gotten so carried away? And over something he couldn't actually use? It was completely nonsensical. And Helena? Had been nothing but kind to him, from the moment he arrived in Spirale. He hadn't interacted with her extensively, but despite her sharp edges, she had a warmth to her that could not be denied.

She deserved the Red Sun more than he did. She also, apparently, wanted it more than he did. Lorene resolved immediately to make this right.

But he needed to be subtle, and he needed to be quick.

Lorene skirted slowly around the crowd that was slowly dispersing around the auctioneer. Helena was within thirty feet of him; he could do this. He lowered his Psionic shields a little bit more.

The Prince's majyk wasn't strong by any metric. He had a very limited telepathic range, and a very limited telepathic scope. Without leaving himself completely unshielded and vulnerable (unthinkable), he could only send or receive surface (worded) thoughts--or pick up little subconscious thought impulses. But he could send those, too.

Lorene subtly threw out a thought that sounded more or less like the voice of Helena's impulsive thoughts, like a doubtful inner voice, and queried: what's your address? To her, it would seem like an if I had won that auction, I'd be giving the auctioneer my address right now kind of thought process. When Helena's thought-voice answered, Lorene memorized her address, and rebuilt his own Psionic shielding to its previous strength.

The Elf walked up to the auctioneer, handed them his Jack of Spades, gave them his best Gala smile, and quietly, confidently repeated Helena's full name and address for their delivery information.

"I might have to commission the same artist for another piece sometime," he commented offhandedly. "Maybe for a similar piece, just smaller. I really love their work. Thank you so much for all of your efforts today."

wesker's not used to being cared for. he was, however, used to being scolded. helena wraps his arm with a bandage and pulls it tighter than she needs to- but she's making a point. she tells him he's stupid for injecting himself with some mystery virus. she's not wrong, it was not his best idea.

❝ it wasn't the first, ❞ he huffs, not quite able to meet her gaze. ❝ i did it twice already with jill... and i was fine, then- and we needed to make it out of that place alive. ❞ yeah, that was on him- wasn't it? he assumed if he did it again, he'd be fine. and he was- until he left the dungeon with helena. he'd collapsed rather quickly, and ... she brought him back to her apartment.

she could've let him suffer. death meant nothing in the city, but instead... instead, she took him to her home and had used the few resources she had to try to make him suffer a little less.

❝ that's why i was valuable to spencer- for a time. because no matter what he did to me, no matter what things he put in my body, i adapted. ❞ not this time, though. the city had also done a number on his abilities, and maybe that was why he was reacting so poorly to this.

that was the issue with viruses- he just had to wait it out.

he knows he looks like shit- the black veins, the open sores. the fact he's too pale. but unlike other victims of the t-virus, wesker's cognitive skills were about the same as they ever were. as in, he was still haughty and impulsive and quite capable of figuring out how to make something to make his body hurt a little less. and he was healing- slowly. a testament still to his body's natural resistances. he wouldn't be suffering this if he hadn't been thrown into this city stripped of most everything.

As the blows increased in power, War only let out subtle grunt. This woman was strong, but not as strong to actually cause him any damage. However, she certainly had a lot more to give than the average mortal.

"Keep going. Go until you can no longer!"

That being said, he was still going to hold back. It wasn't in his nature to reign in his power, but when it came to humans and other mortals, he knew that it wouldn't be fair to just...well, crush them.

So this? This was more about ...assistance and training rather than anything else. If the horseman really needed to let off his own steam, he'd seek out other avenues.

He held up his arms when more blows came, blocking, parrying...etc.

"You're strong, but can you follow swift movements as easily as you throw a punch?" War was surprisingly quick for someone his size, and he dashed around the woman in a circularly motion to see if she could keep up.

It wasn't the first time Frisk was disoriented from falling into a new place.

At least this time, the fall wasn't as long or painful.

Frisk slowly sits up and takes stock of their surroundings, immediately finding themselves overwhelmed by the noise of traffic. The honking of cars and chattering of people all around buzz in their ears, and they can swear they feel the vibrations in their brain rattling around.

And, when it can't get any worse, it starts raining.

It starts out light, but only for a moment, a downpour picking up within moments. Frisk looks around, people bringing out their umbrellas as if they expected the storm. Out of instinct, they quickly scamper beneath one as a woman opens it.

The Merchant holds out a black marker to the store assistant.

"I just got word of major economic changes and new exchange rates. Better go and change the prices on everythin' before people start to think we're cheatin' curs."

There's no one in the shop.

"Minus two zeros love, please and thank you."

@headlesshydra liked for a starter.

this place was strange, in more accounts than one, and jill wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. for one, this was nothing like raccoon city, or anywhere close to it — the region was far too off and the buildings too unfamiliar to make that call. she'd been trying to make proper sense of it for the past couple hours or so, ever since she'd stumbled in, come to, whatever could be used to describe just ... showing up here one day.

it was the sound of a couple hurried footsteps that drew her from her thoughts, eyes shifting from rooftops towards back alleys and sketchy streets. a shadow stretched across the opposite wall of one of the side paths, likely illuminated by some of the streetlights that lined the roads — it stretched long and distorted, but the bottom line was, she wasn't alone. whether or not that was a good thing was yet to be discovered — she hadn't been able to contact any of the s.t.a.r.s since she'd found herself here, and that in itself had been worrying.

careful steps took her towards the source of the sound, one, two, three, four, ensuring to keep her peripheral vision aimed towards her back. she's not unfamiliar with places like this — she'd grown up traversing these kinds of dark, risky places on a frequent basis, so she wasn't perhaps as cautious as most might be.

valentine rounded the corner shortly after, and was greeted with the sight of a child, back pressed tight against the wall and a shotgun in her arms. a shotgun.

she extended a hand, keeping her distance. there was no guarantee she wouldn't be erratic — she looked frightened, of something, or someone — something must have happened for her to both be acting like this and wielding a weapon. code to her father's safe, maybe, or scavenged from someone — either way, jill needed to take it from her before she hurt herself or anyone else, then she could work to solve whatever was going on.

“ hey. ” her voice was soft, keeping her hand held out as she took one step closer. maybe the uniform and badge displayed on her belt would help, if this kid had been told who to look for in an emergency. “ are you alright? ”

He'd let go, finally made his peace, and moved on.

So he thought.

Daud found it funny that he'd spent so long working to kill him, only for a few words from Billie to change his course, and make him understand that in the end, both of them really wanted the same thing: a way to escape.

He expected Oblivion after whispering the Outsider's name. A way to make peace and find rest after years of spilling blood and running across the Isles.

He didn't expect... this place.

Some of the buildings reminded him of Dunwall, sure. Others Karnaca. But all were packed tightly on the cliffsides, spiraling down into a crater.

It wasn't the Void. But it certainly wasn't oblivion. It was something else entirely.

And? He felt alive. Felt much, much better than the slow wasting that had gripped him for the last three years and eventually did end up taking his life.

He had died, he knew that much. And now he wasn't. And more strangely, he was missing his gear, and had a rectangle piece of metal and glass in its place that sent him going to House 119 and gave him 11,000 Dust. His blade was replaced with a kid's wooden toy too.

This place was a mystery, and his first clue was on that glowing glass.

Daud gripped his left hand into a fist, the Outsider's mark glowing on the back of his hand. The power was weaker here- he couldn't go far. He grumbled, and cancelled the transversal, heading over to the House, and walking in.

The place was empty- but certainly lived in, by a man, it seemed. It was spacious, enough room for three comfortably. A cohort of twelve if pressed. One other person lived here- but they seemed absent.

Steps outside the door pressed him into being alert, and he ducked down into the shadows, and instinctively called upon the power of the Void to transverse to the blind side of the door...

A woman came in, brown hair loose at her shoulders, and heading to the other room where the man would have lived. She seemed familiar enough to the place, but she wasn't a stranger.

"Do not worry, Ms. Harper! I am the type of android who puts out the same type of energy that I'm given!" Even though she was the public face of the Stars she was still a people pleaser! "Hmm... But you've lived a pretty troubled life. Seems like most of the people in your world has... What would be appropriate...?" Anything zombie-related was probably off the table!

"I hope this doesn't bring you too much distress, but what about this?" She produced a picture-frame shaped box that did include a picture frame. It contained a photo of Helena and Deborah that had been taken sometime after their parents' deaths. "Sentimentality can make humans happy or sad, but I can't quite grasp where the line is. So I apologize if this is upsetting. I hope it's not."